


tigers on a gold leash

by Butterfly



Series: Queliot Week 2019 [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Hand Jobs, M/M, Queliot Week 2019, political marriage... or IS IT?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: “I can't do this,” Quentin said, as soon as Fen was out the door. “Fuck, Julia. I can't just marry some stranger.” His stomach was doing backflips and he was pretty sure his heart was going to actually explode. “We have to tell Fogg to call it off.”For the 'free day' for Queliot Week 2019; I decided to do a royalty AU.





	tigers on a gold leash

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Royals" by Lorde.

Quentin held the crown up to the light, winced. Thin golden lines that he was pretty sure were supposed to be... stems? Some brownish-gold gems at the base. Topaz, maybe.

“You hate it,” said the messenger girl, visibly disappointed. What had she said her name was? Fern?

“Of course, he doesn't hate it,” Julia said, placing a reassuring hand on the girl's arm. “He's honored. This is how he looks when he's feeling honored.”

“It _is_ a very great honor for High Queen Margo to send her own crown as a symbol of union,” the girl chirruped, with a wide smile.

“Oh, this is... Margo's crown?” Quentin asked, hopefully. The girl gave him a horrified look. “Um. This is High Queen Margo's crown?” How did anyone manage a conversation if they had to use titles all the time. Was Margo going to expect him to call her 'High Queen' all the time? Even when they were alone? Even when they were...

“It most certainly is,” Fern said. “Sadly, yours won't be as elaborate. You'll only be low King, since you're marrying into the kingdom.”

“What does the... uh- the low King's crown look like?” Quentin asked.

“Silver filigree,” Fern said, dismissively. “But I guess we don't want you to distract too much from the High King and Queen.”

“No, we wouldn't want that. Thank you, Fen,” Julia said. Oh. _Fen_. Right, that was it. “I need to help Quentin finish packing up now. We'll meet you downstairs.”

“I can't do this,” Quentin said, as soon as Fen was out the door. “Fuck, Julia. I can't just marry some stranger.” His stomach was doing backflips and he was pretty sure his heart was going to actually explode. “We have to tell Fogg to call it off.”

“Q... you already signed the contract,” Julia said, patiently. “You're now officially our Child of Earth to be sealed to Fillorian royalty. We can't back out now. And you know how badly we need access to that healing river.”

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed, glumly. “But... come on, Julia, let's be real. She'll take one look at me and realize how badly Fillory is being cheated in this deal.”

“You meet the requirements,” Julia said, but her voice was weak.

“Just barely,” Quentin said. “I'm _literally_ the worst magician they could throw at this problem without disqualifying. If she's as smart as her letters make her sound, she's gonna realize that.”

“Well, you'll just have to charm her.” Julia picked some lint off his shirt and gave him a queasy smile. “Um. Maybe we should practice on the way?”

Quentin stared at the crown again. Sighed.

 

* * *

 

The actual trip to Fillory didn't take too long. Portal to the Neitherlands, then half a day's walk to the fountain for Fillory. He and Julia stayed a few feet back from Fen and quietly talked. At this point, Quentin wasn't sure if Fen was genuinely oblivious or just a really good liar.

Hopefully, it wouldn't matter.

Once they got to Fillory, there was a carriage waiting. It was... incredibly over-decorated and Quentin was kind of wishing he'd dressed up. Or at least had clothes that he could dress up into, once they arrived at the palace.

They were still dusty and tired, but Fen hurried him to the throne room anyway, saying that they shouldn't delay his 'presentation' any longer than necessary. Julia, unfortunately, had to wait outside.

The throne room was big and imposing and surprisingly empty. There were four thrones total, and the middle two were occupied. Quentin spared a thought to wonder why the High King and High Queen weren't married to _each other_ , which was something he honestly probably should have been thinking about sooner.

“Here he is, your majesties,” Fen said, with a voice that fucking _carried_ , holy shit, where had she been hiding that? “Quentin Coldwater, soon-to-be low King of Fillory. Upon royal approval, of course!”

And they stared at him; and he stared at them.

He was, probably, getting a much better view.

High Queen Margo was beautiful, in an intimidating, untouchable sort of way. Her green and gold dress had... spikes? On the shoulders. Which seemed uncomfortable. Her hair was long and dark and curled at the edges. It made him remember that he was holding her crown in one hand.

In contrast, High King Eliot wore cream and gold, tightly-fitted. His crown didn't look a thing like Margo's – it was solid, mostly black stone with the occasional flash of a red gem, blocky and harsh. It didn't fit his face which was... which was not the face Quentin was supposed to be staring at.

He forced his eyes back to Margo.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head to the side critically. “He's not _that_ cute.”

It was so astonishingly rude that Quentin couldn't even feel as offended as he probably should be.

“I beg to differ,” Eliot said, crossing one leg over the other, elegantly. “I think he's exactly as cute as advertised. You just have bad taste.”

“He looks like he'd be a lot of work,” Margo said. “Hey, you. Quincy Warmwater. Last time you banged a girl, how many times did she come?”

Quentin blinked, managed, “What? How is that- that is none of your-” She didn't even know his name?

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” she said, shaking her head. “Too much work. Hard pass.”

And Quentin hadn't wanted to marry a stranger, but he hadn't particularly wanted to get _rejected_ by a stranger either, so he was in an odd place, emotionally.

“Um,” he said. Floundered. “Do I just... go back?”

Fen looked like she was about to stab her High Queen, which was actually a bit heartening.

“I mean, you should probably give me back my crown first,” Margo said. She held out her hand, imperious and royal and... well, she actually was royalty, so that was fair. Probably.

Quentin climbed the steps up to the thrones, handed over the crown. “If you have- uh. Additional requirements? We can try to find someone who can meet them?”

“Nah, we'll be fine,” Margo said, plopping the crown on her head, rather inelegantly. “El's looking at you like he wants you to climb him. Just marry him.”

Quentin glanced back over at Eliot. High King Eliot, who gave him a hopeful little smile.

“Oh,” he said. “Um.”

“Why don't I leave you two to talk?” Margo said, hopping up from her chair and hustling out of the room, grabbing Fen by the arm as she went, the door shutting firmly behind them.

“You really are very cute,” Eliot said, leaning forward. “But, you know, no obligation, etcetera. Here's the deal – one kiss. If you like it, we get married. You hate it, I'll tell Fen that, sadly, you won't work out, and you get to go back home.”

“What if _you_ hate it?” Quentin asked, taking one hesitant step towards Eliot. “I mean, you need an escape clause, too.”

“Mmm-mm, Quentin Coldwater, I'm not too worried. I have a good feeling about you,” Eliot said.

Quentin took another step closer.

Eliot reached out, reeled him in, and kissed him hard. Quentin flailed upward, somehow managed to grab at Eliot's fancy coat as one of Eliot's hands firmly cupped the back of Quentin's neck and the other slid down his body. Quentin's mouth opened under the pressure, and Eliot's tongue was inside immediately, and Quentin melted into the kiss.

“So, I don't hate it,” Quentin managed, in-between kisses. Eliot laughed, and kissed him again, tugging him forward, up into Eliot's lap which was... moving pretty fast but, on the other hand, Quentin had come here literally planning to marry someone in less than a week so...

… so yeah, he climbed into Eliot's lap. Let Eliot tug at his shirt buttons and mouth at his neck while he touched Eliot's soft curls and thought about how completely fucking weird his life was.

“You'll love Fillory,” Eliot told him, thumbing at his mouth and licking his jaw. “It's beautiful. What do you like? I know you're a magician. What's your discipline, Quentin Coldwater?”

“Um, call me Q,” Quentin said. Eliot grinned at him, surprised and pleased. “I- uh. Minor mending.”

“Physical,” Eliot said, approvingly. He'd noticed that Quentin was getting hard and palmed a hand over his pants. “You'll fit right in, Q. Don't mind Bambi's bark. She won't bite you, I promise.” As if to make his point, Eliot nipped at Quentin's shoulder where he'd tugged off his shirt.

“Bambi?” Quentin asked. Eliot's clothes had- had very complicated knots tying them closed and it was beginning to be frustrating. “Who is-?”

“High Queen Margo,” Eliot clarified. “Childhood nickname; she probably won't let you use it. Here, it ties right there, baby.” He moved Quentin's hands down, showed him where to yank to open up his shirt. “How do you feel about jerking each other off? I'd love to feel your hand on my dick. You've got nice hands.”

Quentin was going to blush himself to death. But, first, he nodded, pressed his hands against Eliot's chest. “Um, yeah. I mean. We're gonna be married, like. Soon?”

“Impeccable reasoning,” Eliot said, getting his hand into Quentin's pants and feeling him up. “Oh, I forgot that so many Children of Earth from your kingdom do that thing to their cocks. Huh.”

“Yeah, I think it's less popular now? As a trend? Not if you do it for, like, religious reasons. Obviously that isn't going to be impacted by whether or not it's considered- um. Trendy.” Quentin _hated_ his brain and his mouth, because the hottest guy he'd ever met was jerking him off and Quentin was rambling about circumcision. “Um, also. We aren't technically a kingdom-”

“Uh-huh,” Eliot said, and he absolutely wasn't listening to a word Quentin was saying, which was a huge relief. “Here, lick my hand, okay?” He tugged his hand out of Quentin's pants and held it up to his mouth and- Quentin was starting to feel a bit like a leaf caught in a waterfall but went ahead and licked him anyway. Eliot kissed him in thanks, plunged his hand back into Quentin's pants, and started jerking him off in earnest.

Quentin braced himself against Eliot's chest and tried not to come so soon that it would be embarrassing.

“I actually did use to read about Fillory,” Quentin said, because his brain refused to stop. “The travelogues written by Jane Chatwin? I'm not sure how- uh, oh, fuck- how famous they are here, but everyone knows about them- I mean, magicians know, I mean, oh- oh- _Eliot_ -”

He tried to steady his breathing. Eliot slid his hand out of Quentin's pants and licked it clean. Then he reached down and casually undid a tie on his own pants that Quentin hadn't even noticed, pulling out his cock which was- shit, huge and, obviously, uncut, and kind of beautiful in a weird, funny way that made Quentin want to put his mouth on it.

Eliot wanted a handjob, though, so Quentin licked at his palm and fingers long enough to get them wet, and then reached down. It really was ridiculously big, and Quentin was looking forward to getting it in his mouth; it was hard to imagine that it would even fit, but he definitely wanted to try. He did like- the more he looked at it and felt it, the more he liked it. Quentin had been with one or two uncut guys before, so the extra skin wasn't too disconcerting.

Like him, Eliot talked when he was getting jerked off. Unlike him, Eliot actually did dirty talk rather than twittering on with whatever floated into his brain.

So, Quentin got told what lovely hands he had. How much Eliot liked kissing him. What a tight, sweet ass he had, how much Eliot was looking forward to fucking him. He asked Quentin if he wanted to hold off on that until the wedding night, but didn't wait for an answer, moving on to tell Quentin how pretty his hair was and how much he wanted to yank on it while Quentin sucked on his dick.

Quentin had never received so many compliments so quickly his entire life.

When Eliot came, it was a _lot_. So much that it made Quentin laugh, just a little bit. Eliot stroked at his hair, fondly. “I have to warn you, though,” Eliot said, and he sounded more serious now than he had before. “Fillorian marriage is... restrictive. Magically restrictive. If we get married, you physically won't be able to have sex with anyone else. Neither of us will. So, I understand if that's a dealbreaker.”

“Oh,” Quentin said. He thought about that idea, about being in Eliot's bed for the rest of his life. It... wasn't a terrible thought.

Eliot picked up Quentin's come-covered hand, brought it up to his mouth and licked, slowly, teasingly.

Quentin smiled at him, then hesitated.

“Um. So, do I really have to wear a crown?”

Eliot laughed, tugged him back down, and kissed him. Quentin could taste his own come, and Eliot's and- well, he supposed he could handle wearing a crown, even if it did end up being ugly.

It seemed like it would probably be worth it.

 


End file.
